


finishing the hat

by screamlet



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Character Study, Family, Multi, Parent-Child Relationship, Road Trips, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamlet/pseuds/screamlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer after publishing the Reynolds Pamphlet, Alexander Hamilton takes a trip to Philadelphia with Philip, Angelica, and Alex Jr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	finishing the hat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leupagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/gifts).



> \- Set in 1798. In the musical's timeline, this takes place between "Reynolds Pamphlet/Burn" and "Blow Us All Away." Go to HELL [brampersandon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brampersandon/) for suggesting the title (which is a [Sunday in the Park with George](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sunday_in_the_Park_with_George) reference).
> 
> \- For visual references: Philip is 16 in this and [Anthony Ramos](http://imgur.com/yNUQqGL) plays a cocky teenager _really_ well. 14-year-old Angelica (Hamilton's older daughter and a major character in this story) is [Yara Shahidi](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2780578/) ([pics](http://celebritiesofcolor.tumblr.com/post/133180530881/) and [more pics](http://celebritiesofcolor.tumblr.com/tagged/yara-shahidi)). For 12-year-old Alex, [Xolo Maridueña](http://www.imdb.com/media/rm306433792/nm4927704).
> 
> \-- For Abigail Adams, go with [Laura Linney in the _John Adams_ miniseries](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXQZIo6JN2Q). Abigail Adams isn't racebent like the rest of the characters because her whiteness and that very specific privilege plays into her role. 
> 
> \- I wrote the story with the idea that Hamilton and his kids actively [code switch](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Code-switching) in their dialogue; it's not an oversight that they have one way of speaking to each other when it's just them in a scene (i.e., the dialogue more resembles the dialect in the musical), and speak much more formally when they're with Abigail Adams. 
> 
> \-- It's also not an oversight that Jefferson _doesn't_ code switch into a more formal style; it's his privilege as Thomas Jefferson that the people in the room won't think less of him regardless of how he speaks. 

“Oh no,” Hamilton said. “Well, this is terrible news.” 

It was a Saturday during a frigid March in New York. Hamilton lifted his foot gently to rock the cradle where William, their newest son and his newest fan, slept while Hamilton read and responded to some correspondence. Hamilton nearly froze in his office while working this week, so today he had stayed home and joined the children in the sitting room, all of them gathered quietly around the fire. 

He wasn’t talking to William about the terrible news, but to his other three layabouts in the room, too young or too Angelica to attend boarding school with Philip and Alex. 

“Are you going to tell us the terrible news or should we wait until a strange man delivers a copy of the pamphlet to our door and read it then?” 

Hamilton glanced across the room and had to smile a little, because his Angelica hadn’t even looked up from her book to snap at him. That was progress, right? 

“It’s not really terrible news,” he said. 

“Of course not, or we wouldn’t hear about it from you,” Angelica replied. 

“Do you want to hear my terrible news or not, Angelica?” Hamilton asked.

“Sure,” Angelica said. “Clarissa’s still in the damn house, so maybe Richardson will have her break out by the time you’re finished.”

Hamilton rocked the cradle a little too hard and the boys, reading on the floor, heard the momentary fuss from William. They glanced up and, in this light, their eyes were perfect copies of their mother’s, worried and accusing all at once. 

“He’s still asleep,” Hamilton reassured them. “I can do this.”

“I know,” said John, the younger of the boys. He gently nudged his father’s foot off the rocker and took over for a moment. 

“And who the hell sent you a copy of _Clarissa_?” Hamilton asked Angelica. 

“Pa, it’s almost the Lord’s day, should you really upset your maker so close to church?” Angelica asked. 

“Why do I ask,” Hamilton wondered. “Why do I ask when it’s always Tía Angelica?”

“It wasn’t Tía—Ma read it and said I would like it, too.”

“Pa, was there news in your letter or did you just want Angelica’s attention?” John asked. 

“God, was there?” Hamilton asked. “It feels like ages ago. Anyway, it concerns your sister and she’s obviously not interested.”

“I said I was listening, probably,” Angelica replied. 

“Well,” Hamilton said. “I wanted to invite you, Miss Angelica Hamilton, on a brief journey I’m to make to the capital.”

“Which one?” Angelica asked. “We’ve had like thirty.”

“Philadelphia, baby, the capital of America is Philadelphia.”

“So I’m finally going somewhere,” Angelica said. “Finally leaving New York to see some part of the world that isn’t New Jersey or Albany, and you’re taking me to the place you called _the worst place I’ve ever lived except that place destroyed by a literal hurricane_?”

“I have some good memories of Philadelphia,” Hamilton said. “None are appropriate to share with you, but I promise, Philadelphia isn’t that bad.”

“You’re really selling me on this, Pa,” Angelica replied.

“You wouldn’t know from the way you talk to me that I’m the commander of the American Army, would you?” Hamilton asked. 

“You are, and now you’re being summoned to Philadelphia,” Angelica said. “What's being Commander done for you lately?”

“So if we stopped in Trenton to pick up Philip and Alex from boarding school and take them with us,” Hamilton said. “That wouldn’t be any sort of incentive for you?”

Angelica lowered her book and glared at him.

“I suppose you might want some help keeping them in line,” Angelica said. “Since Ma’s not…”

“Not interested,” Hamilton agreed. “It’d be nice to take you off her hands and get the boys out of school for a minute.”

“Are we not invited?” James asked. He was Angelica’s junior by four years and John’s elder by two. Good lord, when did Philip and Angelica multiply into a brood?

“Sorry, boys,” Hamilton said. “Someone has to look after your mother for me, and who better than my two boys here?”

“You know Ma grew up in the country and she’s a way better shot than you, right?” Angelica asked. “We went shooting with her and Tía and she is _really_ good at it. Way better than Tía, but that’s probably because Tía was laughing too much to shoot straight.”

Hamilton left his chair and knelt next to Angelica’s couch so he could lean in and kiss her forehead. “We’re going to have so much fun on our little trip.”

He was trying, and Angelica, who wasn’t _completely_ bitter at him at only 14, seemed to see that. She offered him a begrudging smile. 

“I’m sure Philadelphia’s not that bad,” Angelica said. “And Philip probably has more books for me, so it’s good that we’re going to get him.”

“See? Good points already,” Hamilton said as he stood up again.

Then, for good measure, he peeked at the book in her hands before she could snatch it away.

“How’s Clarissa faring?” Hamilton asked.

“ _Clarissa_ ’s a bore unless you have fifty years to spare waiting for her to give up her virtue or break out of the house,” Angelica scoffed. “The papers were going on and on about how scandalous _Clarissa_ was and honestly, if that’s scandal, sign me up for a library or a convent because I’m _bored_.”

“Well, bring something else with you, because it’s a long trip by carriage,” Hamilton said. “Would you tell your mother I’m taking you and the boys to Philadelphia?”

“Ha,” Angelica laughed. “She’s your wife. You tell her.”

*

Eliza listened to his plan to leave with Angelica, pick up Philip and Alex in Trenton, and stay in Philadelphia for a month or so. By the time their arrangements were made and they set out for Trenton, it would be late spring, just in time for the boys to have finished their studies.

“Isn’t there a war?” Eliza asked without looking up from her—Needlepoint? Embroidery? It wasn’t sewing, he knew that. The other two were the same thing, right? She had help for those chores; it was obviously busy work so she wouldn’t have to look directly at him. 

Eliza interrupted his thoughts by repeating her question: “Do you think it’s a good idea to take our three eldest children into a war zone?”

“There’s no fighting in Philadelphia, but that’s what I’m going to investigate,” Hamilton said. “To see if this is worth upgrading to an actual war, or if it’s still just French pirates stealing our cargo ships.”

“Fine then,” Eliza said. “Don’t get our children killed.”

“Eliza,” he sighed. 

“If you can help it, try not to publicly disgrace our family again, but if you _have_ to choose between the two, I’d really prefer it if you returned with our children alive. The disgrace, at least, we can bear.”

Hamilton stood there for another moment, then realized he was waiting to be dismissed out of his own bedroom (not that he had slept there in… a while… but it was the principle of the thing). 

“I’ll let you know more when I’ve made our arrangements,” Hamilton said. “And the children will write, of course.”

“Fine,” Eliza said. 

“It’s been a year, Eliza,” Hamilton said. “Is this really how we’re going to be for the next year? Three years? Three _decades_ we’re alive?”

“For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health,” Eliza recited carefully. “I didn’t vow pleasantries.”

Hamilton replied, “You forgot love and cherish.”

“And so did you,” Eliza said. “Enjoy your trip.”

Hamilton turned to leave, then said, “That was _such_ a good burn, like were you saving that? Are there more?”

Eliza didn’t look up from her work. He waited another moment in hope of a response, then left her alone. 

*

As Alexander helped Angelica out of their carriage, he looked across the modest grounds of St. Michael’s in Trenton to see if he could spot the boys’ dorms. Apparently, they were expected; there was a flash of movement across the way and he could immediately spot his sons from the way they sprinted towards them, the dorm servants rushing after them with their worldly possessions. What considerate young men he had failed to raise. 

Philip dropped his bags practically in the street so he could run to his sister and pick her up, the two of them screaming and twirling around each other. “I’M FINISHED WITH SCHOOL FOREVER,” he yelled right in her face.

“You still have college, Philip, and you have to pass the bar,” Hamilton said.

“I’M FINISHED WITH SCHOOL UNTIL WE GO BACK HOME,” Philip yelled at her. 

“AT LEAST YOU WENT TO SCHOOL,” Angelica yelled back. “IT’S FINE, I CAN READ AND PLAY THE PIANO.”

“How are you, Alex?” Hamilton asked his younger son.

“I’d’ve liked to go home,” Alex said. He dutifully picked up Philip’s bags from the street and brought them around to have them loaded on the carriage. 

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Hamilton said. 

“Is there really a war?” Alex asked.

“It’s only at sea,” Hamilton said.

“What’s _this_?” Philip asked his sister. “Pops, Angelica’s wearing a _locket_ , did you know? Did you _know_ she has something to _lock away_ in here?”

“It’s Peggy’s,” Angelica said as she clutched the locket in her hand. “She and Ma gave it to me a while ago—it’s not my fault _he_ didn’t notice.”

“I see you every day,” was Hamilton’s defense, and a sad, shitty one at that.

“Who’s in it, though?” Philip needled. “Who’s in it? Come on come on come on who’s in it?”

“Well,” Angelica said. “Ma said, since it’s a family heirloom and everything, I should put someone in there I really treasure, you know?” 

She looked carefully at them and smiled a secretive little smile. Hamilton clutched Alex closer in hopes of stopping time right then and there, at least for the two of them. 

“Someone who makes me smile whenever I think of them,” Angelica finished, holding the locket in her palm more gently than she did anything else to-date. 

“Christ, all right,” Hamilton sighed. “Who is it, where did you meet them, does your mother like them?”

“Tía likes him,” Angelica said as she popped the locket open and showed it to Philip.

“THOMAS JEFFERSON,” Philip yelled as he burst out laughing. “Holy shit, you’re my favorite sister. You’re my favorite, period.”

“GET HIM OUT OF YOUR LOCKET RIGHT NOW,” Hamilton yelled. 

“I think he has a lot of good policies we should think about supporting,” Angelica said.

“No, you don’t,” Hamilton said carefully, “because you aren’t a hypocritical slaveowner and also _a complete asshole_ , Angelica Hamilton.”

“I could be,” Angelica said. “Never say never.”

“Pa, we really need to see both sides here,” Philip laughed. 

“Okay, everyone into the carriage before I disown every single one of you,” Hamilton said. “Getting into the carriage doesn’t guarantee you won’t be thrown out onto the road if that man’s name comes up again.”

Philip helped his sister inside and sat next to her, across from Hamilton and Alex. The younger Alex stared out the window, willing himself not to exist for the next thousand years they would spend traveling to Philadelphia in this carriage. 

“So you think he has a chance in the next election?” Philip asked Angelica as soon as they were on the road. 

“The election is two years away, Philip,” Hamilton said. “There’s no point in discussing this when there’s still two years left for every candidate to contract dysentery and die.”

“Of course he’s going to win,” Angelica said, ignoring him. “He’s so qualified when it comes to foreign policy.”

“Angelica, didn’t you hear about Saint Domingue?” Hamilton asked. 

“And he has really good ideas about the economy,” Angelica continued. 

“This is the worst day of my life,” Hamilton said. “And I have had a _terrible_ life.”

*

Philadelphia still had its charms, like how there was no way to reach it without paying a literal ferryman to carry their carriage, their horses, and their belongings across the fucking Delaware and deposit them in the area of town where there was nothing to be found but bars and pubs a million other things Hamilton shouldn’t have exposed to his young impressionable brats. 

But, that was Philadelphia, and Philip and Angelica stuck their heads out each window of the carriage to drink in the city, somehow more crowded and filthier than New York.

“It smells terrible,” Alex said to his father.

“That’s Philadelphia,” Hamilton said.

“Are we staying near here?” Angelica asked excitedly as someone was thrown out of a pub and into the street in the middle of the afternoon.

“No, I’ve rented us a house in a decent neighborhood,” Hamilton said.

“Can we visit _this_ neighborhood?” Philip asked.

“You’re not to go east past the President’s House,” Hamilton said.

“Which way is east?” Philip asked.

“The way we just came,” Hamilton said. “The place where the sun comes up, Philip.”

“Pa, is our house near the yellow fever mass grave?” Angelica asked. “I’ve heard it’s spooky at night.”

“Do I really have to tell you _don’t visit the yellow fever mass grave_ , Angelica?” Hamilton asked. “Lord, I hate this city.”

“You were here all the time when Washington was President,” Alex said. “Is there anything to do here?”

“No,” Hamilton said. “There never has been and there never will be.”

“Did the British kill all the fun before they left?” Philip asked.

“Nothing and no one stands a chance against Philadelphia. It's tried to kill me with fever, frost, starvation, lice, bar fights, actual goddamn bullets,” Hamilton said. “My best friend was a prisoner in Philadelphia during the war, and even with him here there wasn’t much entertainment to be had.”

They were close now. If Hamilton turned his head right, he could look down the street and see the corner of Arch Street. He could check to see if there still stood a small townhouse commandeered by the British during the war. That was where John Laurens was housed with the other Southern officers from his campaign, the place where Alexander had visited him the few times he could get away from the camp in New Jersey.

He didn’t look. 

*

“Okay, so we’re in the capital!” Philip announced. He was pacing in the sitting room of the house they had let for the summer. They had been out of the carriage for all of an hour and he was ready to get moving again. “What now?”

“Well,” Hamilton said. “I’m writing to Mrs. Adams to get us an invitation to the President’s House. While we wait for her, I’ll have to meet with some of the commanders under me for our actual business. The three of you will be free to come with me or explore the city, within reason.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Alex. 

“We’ll explore,” Angelica and Philip said in unison.

“You’re free to go as far west as Grays Ferry and no further, and you’re _not_ to have _anything_ to do with Jefferson,” Hamilton said. 

“Is _that_ where the Vice President lives? How interesting,” Angelica said lightly. 

“It’s not,” Hamilton said. “It’s not where he lives _and_ it’s not interesting.”

Hamilton could practically hear the look she gave Philip, and he definitely heard the two of them snickering behind his back.  

“Not that under normal circumstances he would entertain a pair of teenagers wandering the city, but if he found out you were mine, he absolutely would and he would ruin your life because _that’s what he does_.”

“You’re sitting in one of his swivel chairs,” Angelica said. “Did you know he invented them?”

“Did you know he buys and sells human beings and extorts their labor without pay?” Hamilton asked. 

“Pops, I heard he has a bust of you at Monticello,” Philip said. “It’s just your head, sitting at the entrance to his house, so he can look his adversary in the eye whenever he returns from the hard business of governing.”

“No he doesn’t,” Hamilton said. He paused in his writing and looked to Alex, sitting next to him. “Does he?”

“Marcus Phillips was there for the holidays with his father and said Jefferson showed it off to the whole party,” Alex said quietly. “That’s pretty much what he said.”

Hamilton turned in his goddamned Jefferson-invented swivel chair and looked at Angelica. “That’s not even a little creepy to you?”

“I think it’s romantic,” Angelica said. “You have a portrait of Lafayette in your study. It’s just like that.”

“That’s different,” Hamilton said. “I _like_ Lafayette.”

“And that miniature in your wallet of your friend from the war,” Philip added. “You should get a bust made of him.”

“Well, _now_ I won’t,” Hamilton said as he swiveled in his chair and returned to his letter. “Now that you’ve both ruined me on the idea of commemorative busts.”

“You could walk by and touch him whenever you wanted,” Philip said.

“No more talking until I finish these letters,” Hamilton said. “Go entertain yourselves. Learn something. Get a degree. Write to your mother and brothers.”

“I’m going to rest before we go out,” Angelica said to Philip. 

“Don’t keep your locket under your pillow or Pops will come in and steal it,” Philip said.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Hamilton said, still writing. “We’re each free human beings allowed to make all the terrible decisions we want, and if Angelica wants to start her adult life with declaring herself a Democratic-Republican, whatever the _hell_ that means, then she’s free to do so, and I’m free to complain about it as loudly as I want. You forget I actually _know_ Jefferson and I _know_ what a disgraceful excuse for a person he is. If my children want their characters defined by their total willful ignorance, and to start their public lives by talking absolute _crap_ on issues they know nothing about, then there’s nothing I can do but wish you well from this shore.”

Hamilton listened behind him to the absence of a response, the slight rustle of Angelica and Philip exchanging looks, probably rolling their eyes and making obscene gestures behind his back. He heard Angelica and her dress rustle out of the room.

“Thanks, Dad. Good talk,” Angelica called over her shoulder. 

Philip threw himself back on a couch and announced he, too, would have a nap. 

*

Hamilton and Alex returned from their meetings with Hamilton’s military staff and found a note from Philip and Angelica, written on a broadsheet across a John Adams cartoon: 

_Pa- Out CAROUSING like LIBERTINES. Note from Mrs. Adams came but it was just an invite to dinner and yawning tomorrow nite. Prez out of town. LUCKY YOU!!!_

_xxx Yr obdt kids_

“What are we to do with them?” Hamilton asked Alex. “You won’t betray me and become a rowdy youth, will you?”

“Probably not,” Alex said. “It takes so much effort.”

“This is what I’m saying! Who has the energy to think of ways to torture their parents every hour of the day?”

“Not parents,” Alex said. “Just you.”

“Ah,” Hamilton said. “Right.”

Hamilton picked up the note from Abigail Adams and as he opened it, he asked Alex, “Are you still upset with me? Over that… the trouble we had last year?”

“You upset Ma,” Alex said, which didn’t answer the question. “But it’s like you told Angelica: you’re free to do what you want. There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“I know I said it, but I don’t like it,” Hamilton said. “It’s a lawyer’s trick, to stay correct to the letter while the spirit wanders elsewhere.”

Alex nodded to himself, then shrugged. “I’ll be in my room,” Alex said as he left his father alone.

*

In a carriage the following evening:

“Why are we having dinner with Mrs. Adams if you hate them so much?” Angelica asked. 

“I find Mrs. President way more reasonable than her husband,” Hamilton said. “And that’s just what we do—pay our respects to people who could make or break our future prospects.” 

“How do I become like Mrs. Adams?” Angelica asked. “A woman who makes or breaks men’s future prospects?”

“Let’s promise,” Hamilton said, leaning forward and offering Angelica his hand. “Let’s make a pact that if either of us figures it out, we’ll tell the other, okay? Then we’ll own this place.”

Angelica smiled a little, then shook her father’s hand. 

“Deal,” she said. “But I don’t want to own this place. It’s ugly as hell.”

“And why is it so close to all the bars?” Philip asked as he gazed out the carriage window. “I thought the Adamses were uptight about that shit.”

“Christ, I forgot,” Hamilton said. “The Adamses are uptight about _everything_.”

“Ooh, really?” Angelica asked. “How uptight? What do you mean by _everything_?”

“I mean everything, Angelica,” Hamilton said. “Tonight, no swearing.”

“Come the fuck on,” Philip said. “You swear all the time!”

“Not around Abigail Adams!” Hamilton said. “If we’re talking about books, only the old shit.”

“You can’t even tell us not to swear without swearing,” Angelica pointed out.

“That goes triple for you, Angelica,” Hamilton said. “Don’t bring up _Clarissa_ or _Pamela_ or _Shamela_ or _Camilla_ or anything that makes me look like I let you read anything you want.”

“ _Camilla_ ’s harmless, Pa,” Philip noted. He asked Angelica, “Did you start either of those Defoe novels I gave you? _Roxana_ ’s the shit.”

“Really?” Hamilton asked. “This is what boarding school bought us?”

“And you know Latin, right?” Philip continued. “There’s whole poems we’re not allowed to write out in translation because they’re too morally degrading. I think Mrs. President will be so impressed I know that.”

“I think you should recite some,” Angelica said. “You know, for light entertainment after dinner. Philip, we should have practiced setting them to music! Maybe we can improvise. Ma would be so proud of us when she hears we played a duet at the President’s House.”

“What are you doing to me right now?” Hamilton asked Philip and Angelica. “Like, sitting here, on the way to dinner with the President’s wife—what the actual fuck are you doing to me?”

They shrugged and Philip’s face lit up again.

“Oh shit, and there’s this German book that people are losing their minds over,” Philip said to Angelica. “It’s about this love triangle between a guy named Werther and a girl named Charlotte and some other guy—it’s so fucked up a translation _just_ got through the censors in England—”

“You know,” Hamilton said. “Your mother asked one thing of me before we left and it was that I not kill any of you, and this conversation’s making that one promise increasingly difficult to keep.”

“I’ll write to Ma when we’re back at the house,” Angelica assured Philip. “One of them, Ma or Peggy or Angelica, has to have read it already.”

“I didn’t say you could read it,” Hamilton said.

“You let me read anything I want,” Angelica said. “You’ve literally never had an opinion on what I read or when I read it. Does this mean you’ll stop paying the bookseller’s bills and I’ll have to go a whole three blocks away to Tía and get _her_ to buy me whatever I want?”

“Sounds like a challenge, Pops,” Philip said. “Maybe Mrs. Adams would want to weigh in on the controversy.”

Hamilton glared at them both and chose to ignore everything they said. 

“If Mrs. Adams does want to talk to you about books, _only_ the classics, okay? Or those wholesome children’s poetry annuals your grandfather gives you for the holidays.”

“Is now a good time to mention that I gave Grandpa’s last book to John so he could build a bird’s nest in the yard?” Angelica asked. “I didn’t know there’d be a quiz.”

“What if we just talk to Mrs. Adams like she’s a person?” Alex asked from his corner of the carriage.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Pretend she’s your grandmother, but she doesn’t love you,” Hamilton added. 

“Dad,” Angelica said. “Does Mrs. Adams not like you? Does she not like _us_?”

“We’ll be fine,” Hamilton said. 

“That’s not what she asked,” Philip said.

“She doesn’t like anyone,” Hamilton said. “Neither does her husband, but they’re Dad’s bosses, okay? So we’re all going to be funny and charming and no one’s getting Dad fired or arrested for treason.”

“Is that something the President’s wife can do at a dinner?” Alex asked. 

“You’re under the serious misapprehension that we’re a civilized society where everything happens for good reasons,” Hamilton said. “I promise you—we’re not.”

*

The four Hamiltons sat on a long green waiting couch in the foyer of the President’s House. Mrs. Adams had kept them waiting for 30 minutes so far, long enough that a maid saw them and rushed away with profuse apologies. 

“Damn, Pa, they _really_ don’t like you,” Philip said. “This is some straight up bullshit.”

“Don’t say _bullshit_ in the President’s House,” Alex said. 

“You just said it,” Angelica said.

“I didn’t say it, I was quoting Philip,” Alex said.

“Yeah, and to quote him, you had to say it,” Angelica said. “You’re in the shit, too, don’t pretend like you’re better than us.”

“At least I’m trying,” Alex said. 

“Yeah, and for what?” Angelica asked. “You’re still on this ugly ass couch with us and they haven’t even asked us if we wanted something to drink.”

“Antagonizing people doesn’t get you anywhere,” Alex said.

“Like I have so many fucking places to go, Alex?” Angelica asked. “We’re all headed to the same damn place, might as well enjoy ourselves and tell this lady her couch is ugly.”

“Pops, I’m sorry, five more minutes or we’re going to a pub,” Philip said. 

“Yeah, one of the ones by the river,” Angelica said. “I heard they’re illegal but the cops just turn a blind eye to them.”

Hamilton had long given up engaging with his kids’ bitching. He leaned on his end of the couch and closed his eyes, the better to forget he had left his lunch untouched while he worked until right before leaving for dinner. Everything had hit him, hard, in the past 30 minutes: his total isolation from Eliza, his chilled relationship with Angelica (both the elder _and_ younger), his precarious situation with Adams, the way it looked like—like he actually _couldn’t_ do this, any of this, without Washington beside him. Christ, what he would give for one day, just _one day_ , when he didn’t have to defend every inch of his life from every person in his life. 

“No one’s leaving,” Hamilton said. “We’re guests of the President and his wife, we stay until she sees us.”

Philip got up and began to pace. “For real, though, who does John Adams think he is? Don’t think I forgot, Pa, he didn’t even want to promote you in the Army, and now he pulls this shit? I swear to god—”

“Philip, sit down, you’re being dramatic,” Hamilton said. 

“At least I’m doing something,” Philip replied. 

“I’m going to look at the library,” Angelica said.

“This isn’t your house, Angelica,” Hamilton said. “Sit down, don’t touch anything.”

“I was only going to _look_ at the library but now that you mention it, maybe I’ll bump into that table with my dress—”

“Angelica, PLEASE,” Hamilton finally said, raising his voice. “Hasn’t your mother taught you a single damn thing about ladylike behavior? About _discretion_?”

Hamilton, for a moment, mistook the silence for agreement, or an effective attempt at discipline with his children. 

He glanced over; Angelica was silent as she stared at him, eyebrows raised. 

“You really just said that,” Philip said to Hamilton. “You really just said that to my sister, _your daughter_ , who doesn’t say shit to _anyone_ but us, and _you_ just told her to be more discreet.”

“Dad, that’s not fair to Angelica,” Alex added. “Philip was being just as rude.”

“Shut up, snitch, you're still not anyone’s favorite,” Philip snapped. 

“I know it’s different for me,” Angelica said. “I’m just here to make Pa look good.”

“Angelica, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Hamilton said.

“Whatever,” Angelica said. She stood up and joined Philip in pacing around the foyer, away from Alex and their father.

Hamilton watched his son and daughter link arms and walk around, whispering to each other. Angelica made sure to always turn her face away from him, her neck turning like a dancer spotting their target to make sure they didn’t lose their balance. Their pacing only seemed to illustrate the full circle of his shitty parenting for this afternoon and also, probably, forever. 

But the evening was just starting, signaled by the descent of Abigail Adams down the house’s main staircase. Hamilton rose from the couch and walked to the foot of the stairs to greet the President’s wife. 

“General Hamilton,” she said. “I apologize that I kept you waiting, I had some urgent business to attend upstairs. I thought your note said your family was with you in town, not that they were _here_.”

“Well, most of my family, anyway,” Hamilton said. They both wondered whether to shake hands, but Abigail left the staircase and approached the kids, who had left the couch and lined up in age order where they had just had their civil war minutes before. 

“These are my three eldest,” Hamilton said. “Philip, Angelica, and Alexander.”

“An honor to meet you, Mrs. President,” Philip said as he bowed. Hamilton winced.

“It’s Mrs. Adams,” she said. “ _Mrs. President_ is an honorific invented by the newspapers to disparage the President.”

“Oh,” Philip said, glancing at his father with horror. “That’s. Good to know, Mrs. Adams.”

Abigail moved on to Angelica. Angelica actually got to curtsy and shake hands with the President’s wife. 

“General Hamilton, does she resemble your wife more, or you?” Abigail asked. 

“Her aunt, actually,” Hamilton said. “In looks and in temperament.”

Abigail turned back to Hamilton and smiled. “How is Angelica the elder? She and her husband were the only people in London that John didn’t completely despise.” 

“She’s well, thank you,” Hamilton said. “They moved back to New York permanently a few years back, when they were unable to assist Lafayette out of prison.”

“Assist,” Abigail said. “You mean escape.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither able to read the other. 

“He’s a good friend of mine,” Hamilton said. “One of the few to survive the war. Had you heard that General Lafayette was only released from that prison cell last year? A cell where he lived with his wife and daughters for _two years_?”

“Perhaps things would have gone better if President Washington had supported his side in the revolution,” Abigail replied. “Not that I disagree with the stance you and the former President took. It wasn’t the right time, though a terrible shame for Lafayette and his family.”

“I’ll send your good wishes to Lafayette with Georges,” Hamilton said. “He’s leaving Mount Vernon this year to rejoin his family in France.”

“So good of you to do that,” Abigail said as she turned back to Alex the younger. “And you’re the namesake.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Adams,” Alex said. 

“Good, you were listening,” Abigail said. 

Hamilton saw the look Philip sent down the line at his younger brother, and warned Philip off with a look of his own.

“Well,” Abigail said as she stepped back to stand next to Hamilton. “My apologies again for keeping you waiting. Honestly, when my maid said that General Hamilton had brought his children, I hardly believed you were real.” She glanced at Hamilton and smiled. “Perhaps hired on the way here and brought to impress.”

Hamilton laughed, dryly. “Who’s to say my wife didn’t hold auditions and hire them all as infants? They earn their keep well enough with small signs of affection here and there. That’s really all we want of our children, isn't it?”

The kids glared at him while he smiled for Abigail. 

“Let’s have drinks in the library,” Abigail said, pointedly not laughing at his joke. “Angelica, do you read much?”

“ _Constantly_ ,” Angelica said, stepping forward from the line. “I was admiring your library while we waited and it was really only the strictest discipline and decorum that kept me from exploring without your permission.”

Hamilton stopped in his tracks as Abigail fucking Adams burst out laughing and met Angelica to put her arm around her shoulders. “You, dear, should be the lawyer in your family,” Abigail said to her. Angelica grinned instantly. “Send your brothers into the Army and Navy, and _you_ take the bar. A few more years’ practice and you’ll be ten times the liar as your father.”

She looked over her shoulder at Hamilton and his sons, and laughed. “You’ll forgive a joke from an old lawyer’s wife, won’t you, General Hamilton?”

“I’ll forgive anything that has Angelica laughing,” Hamilton said. 

Fuck. He could have kicked himself for telling her something true.

*

While dinner was prepared, they had drinks and made small talk, though the talk was dominated by Angelica and Abigail Adams discussing in-depth what seemed like every title published on the planet in the past calendar year. 

“But I’m surprised that your father’s… foreign connections,” Abigail said with a careful look to Hamilton, “doesn’t have you reading more titles from overseas.”

“It’s also my French,” Angelica admitted. “I’m still learning and working very hard at becoming fluent, but it limits what I can read. There are so many idioms I have to take note of and look up, if they can even be looked up. It makes for a hard reading experience.”

“But your father is fluent,” Abigail said, looking at Hamilton. “President Washington assures us the entire war would have been lost if Hamilton hadn’t been the three- and four-language translator that he was.”

“Well, yes,” Angelica said. “But he has his work, as you know—”

Fuck fuck fuck Abigail Adams was coming after him because his 14-year-old daughter wasn’t a native speaker of French already FUCK. 

“Isn’t she in school, General Hamilton?” Abigail asked. “I thought you, a man who relies _so_ much on the written word, would have found his daughter a school as well as his sons.”

“She has a tutor,” Hamilton said quickly.

“A tutor isn’t a school,” Abigail said. “A tutor is a supplement. Surely you’ve read the latest educational treatises out of Boston and Virginia. Even the old British universities are phasing more small group tutorials into their independent learning models, because what good is this learning without its implementation and testing among her peers?”

F U C K

“I’ll ask Thomas how he educated his daughters,” Abigail said as she rose and moved to the desk in the corner of the library. “I think he sent his daughters away to a school in the Carolinas, and they are more literate and fluent in French, Latin, and Greek than most of the members of Congress.”

Hamilton shot Angelica a look and she beamed. 

“Theodosia goes to school in New Brunswick,” Philip announced. “Theodosia Burr,” Philip repeated. “Aaron Burr’s daughter, Mrs. Adams.”

“Oh, _Theodosia_ ,” Abigail said. “I adore her.”

Hamilton almost broke his neck with a double-take between Philip and Abigail Adams. “When the f—” Hamilton caught himself and cleared his throat. “Philip, when did you have the chance to meet Theodosia Burr?”

“She and her father have a house near Trenton, so he lectures at St. Michael’s sometimes,” Philip said. “He always remembers me and asks how we’re doing.”

“So wonderfully civil of Senator Burr,” Abigail said. “I know he believes very strongly in educating women. He wrote me the most eloquent, heartfelt letter about his daughter’s education. I told him he should publish it as a pamphlet, or expand it into a book, but you know his modesty, and how much he hates the attention.” She sat back down again and smiled at Hamilton, no warmth behind the eyes. “You should discuss this more with him. He’s very knowledgeable about these matters.”

Hamilton stared into the middle distance with dead eyes and wondered where the hell this conversation could go next. 

“Dinner is served,” announced a servant. “Mrs. Adams, the Vice President’s carriage has arrived outside. He’s coming up the steps now.”

“Is he?” Abigail asked, looking concerned. “Now? Really? Didn’t he get my note?”

“Oh my god,” Philip said. “Dreams _do_ come true.”

“Fuck,” Hamilton whispered under his breath. 

“ABIGAIL,” a voice called out in the foyer, accompanied by the click of heavy heels. “I know me and your hubs are in the shit right now, but that doesn’t mean we’re not still FRIENDS, Abby. You CAN’T have anyone more interesting in your drawing room than me. Wake up, girl, it’s Saturday night dinner!” 

Jefferson halted in the doorway and stared at the four Hamiltons, who all rose to greet him. 

“I should’ve read the note, huh?” Jefferson asked.

“It’s Thursday, Thomas,” Abigail said. 

“If you say so,” Jefferson said. “Hamilton, are these actually your kids or did you rob an orphanage on the way here?”

Abigail tried to disguise her laugh as a cough, but Jefferson noticed. 

“They look too cute to be his, right?” Jefferson asked as he approached Angelica. “My god, you are the spitting image of Angelica Schuyler. Are you the little niece she always talks about? How _is_ your aunt Angelica?” Jefferson raised his eyebrow and glanced at Hamilton. “She miss me?”

While Hamilton felt his internal organs melt inside his body, Angelica took a step back so she was closer to Philip. “She doesn’t mention you much,” Angelica said, her eyes firmly on Jefferson. “But I’ll drop your name and sees if she remembers you.”

“You do that,” Jefferson said. “And which brother is this behind you?” 

Philip stepped out from beside Angelica and held out his hand to Jefferson. “Philip Hamilton, soon of Columbia College in New York.”

“Another lawyer, Hamilton?” Jefferson asked. “God, that’s all Manhattan needs. Good luck to New York and all the murderers you’ll get off the gallows.” He shook Philip’s hand and laughed. “Sure you wouldn’t want to be a soldier with those hands? I’ve heard _amazing_ things about how the Army can make gentlemen, eventually.”

He completely ignored Alex and turned back to Abigail. “I’m sorry I thought it was Tuesday. Wait, it’s Thursday and I _thought_ it was Saturday. Is there room for one more? You need a strong head at the table anyway, and someone to keep Hamilton from derailing the conversation every five minutes.”

“Of course there’s always room for you, Thomas,” Abigail said as she took his arm and led him to the dining room. “But you and Angelica sit by me, and General Hamilton and his sons can have the other end.”

Hamilton looked at his daughter and offered his arm to enter the dining room, this being a Proper Dinner and everything. They looked at each other and understood: it was one thing to joke among themselves, but _here_ they would have to unite to survive the next 600 courses.

*

Dinner was interesting.

“Hamilton, have you even told your kids why you dragged their asses down here to Swampsylvania in the middle of July?” Jefferson asked. “Have you even told your _hostess_ why you’re here?”

“He’s here for work, Mr. Jefferson, and anything more than that isn’t any of your business,” Angelica replied.

“Ooh, it’s plenty my business, considering Pops isn’t here as part of his—hold on, I gotta make the biggest quotation marks in the world right now: QUOTE INSPECTOR GENERAL END QUOTE—role in the Army. Your pops has a much bigger role in the government as the second most important Federalist, didn’t you know that? Actually, I’m glad I caught all of you kids here so you could hear about the Alien and Sedition Acts from someone besides the guy pushing onto the President’s desk some bills that would have had _him_ deported if his own party had drafted them twenty years ago.” 

“What the actual hell are you talking about?” Philip asked across the table. 

“Baby boy, has he not told you about the Alien and Sedition Acts?” Jefferson asked. “Does New Jersey not print newspapers yet, or are you only reading the trash your daddy approves?”

“You’ve got some nerve bringing the Acts up,” Hamilton interrupted. “Every other damn letter I’ve written this year has been telling my own party to lay the hell off and let me tell you, I’d make some actual progress if every word out of your mouth wasn’t immediately attaching itself to a French—”

“Oh wait,” Jefferson said as he laughed. “Oh wait, oh wait, MY MAN. Are you going there? Are _we_ going _there_?”

“You’re most certainly not,” Abigail snapped. 

“All right, all right,” Jefferson said as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “For Abby, for lil Angelica and the kids, I won’t, but let’s talk about the Alien and Sedition Acts—”

“Which I have nothing to do with,” Hamilton interrupted.

“But whose roll you sure as hell haven’t slowed,” Jefferson said. “Kids, what the men working for your pops have proposed are a series of bills that would do the following: to make it legal for their Federalist president to deport any immigrant, dealer’s choice; to lengthen the amount of time it takes to become a citizen; and to close any newspaper that prints something that opposes Federalist policies.”

“Our father would never support any of that,” Philip said.

“Oh, really,” Jefferson said. “You think you know your dad that well, the man who literally stood up in front of Congress and proposed we become a monarchy when we had just shrugged off a monarchy—”

“It’s been twenty years, Jefferson, I think you can give up the monarchist slander.”

“Regardless if it _was_ twenty years ago, General Hamilton,” Abigail said from the other end of the table. “I don’t approve in the slightest of the Alien and Sedition Acts, and I don’t know what could have possessed the Federalists to have proposed such an outrageous set of policies. What weight do you have as a leader in your own party if you claim to oppose these Acts so strongly, while support for them has never been stronger?”

“Fear, Mrs. Adams,” Hamilton replied. “Simple as that. Between our own revolution, the revolution in France, the revolution in Saint Domingue—”

“That’s not a revolution, that’s a revolt,” Jefferson said.

“And what’s the difference except the color of their skin?” Hamilton said.

“Oh, just about everything, but please, keep believing it’s as easy as that,” Jefferson replied. 

“We’re not going there, Thomas,” Abigail said. “I’ve told you time and again, you are my friend, but on this we don’t agree.”

“I know, and I’m with you,” Jefferson said. “On this we don’t agree, and you and John have the good sense to let Virginia do as Virginia does. These are the compromises Hamilton thinks he’s too good to make until he’s desperate enough to make them.” 

“Is that true?” Angelica asked down the table at Hamilton. “Your party wants to deport immigrants? Immigrants like Lafayette and Georges?”

“Immigrants like YOUR FATHER,” Jefferson sang out across the table. “No matter how many of you kids he drops here, he’s still not _from here_.”

“I’m _fighting_ it, Angelica,” Hamilton said. “I would never—”

“I mean, so he says,” Jefferson interrupted. “But, lest we forget, Lafayette was one of the _good ones_ , with the money and title and connections to make good when we needed it, and then he could rot in prison when we were done with him.” Jefferson continued, counting names on his fingers. “Your pops, he’s one of the good ones, who erased his accent and his language and any _local color_ that’d give him away, the better for him to pretend like he’d always been here.” 

“My father says he opposes it, Mr. Jefferson, what more do you want?” Angelica asked. 

“I’m sure he says he opposes it, but only because there’s no hiding where he came from and how he got there,” Jefferson said. “Where would he be without Washington?”

“Don’t you dare bring him into this,” Hamilton said.

“Even better, to go back to _that other thing_ , that sweet little unspeakable thing from before,” Jefferson said. “Where would you be without Laurens?”

“Excuse me?” Hamilton asked. 

“You think I didn’t know Henry Laurens, my fellow practitioner, the President of Congress for a hot second, before we heard over in Paris that his son John had taken a shine to this little immigrant with a big mouth and made you his, ahem, _friend from the war_?” Jefferson asked. “Didn’t we all find it odd that the little Laurens boy, fighting for the abolition of the trade that gave him everything, spent the war running around Philadelphia and South Carolina trying to get him and his friend Hamilton sent to France together so they could, you know, _raise money_ for the war.”

“He wanted to make your black slaves full citizens of this country,” Hamilton said, his eyes firm on Jefferson. “Not split a human life into _fractions_ of a person, though we are all, apparently, created equal.”

“If that’s what helped you two sleep at night— _sure_ ,” Jefferson said. He looked at Philip and added, “But just so _you_ know, no one would have heard of Washington’s skinny little secretary if that Laurens name and that Laurens _money_ hadn’t, how shall I say, slicked the way for your pops every time John Laurens opened his mouth.”

Hamilton stared at Jefferson, then pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Outside, Thomas,” Hamilton said.

“Yeah, okay,” Jefferson laughed.

“I SAID OUTSIDE,” Hamilton said. “You come after Lafayette and Washington, you come after _John Laurens_ , you come after me, so come on, outside. I assume you’re armed.”

“Excuse you, I’m the Vice President of the United States and this coat is _new_ ,” Jefferson said.

“Excuse you both,” Abigail said as she stood up from her seat as well. “No one is dueling anyone at the President’s House as long as I’m here—are we clear?”

Hamilton stared at Jefferson, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched at his side.

“Dad, please,” Alex said. 

Hamilton closed his eyes and shook his head, then sat back down. Abigail did the same.

“Fine,” Hamilton said. “Fine. Let’s talk about more pleasant things.”

“Here here,” Jefferson said.

“Let’s sit down, and enjoy this dry roast,” Hamilton said. “And we’ll think well on our Vice President Jefferson, who criticizes me for the two friends I have ever had in my life—”

“I think the roast is wonderful,” Jefferson said. 

“—a Vice President who takes a place in the President’s House, with the President nowhere in the city, perhaps not even in the state,” Hamilton continued. “You insult _my_ connections while you manipulate the newspapers, breed sedition under your assumed names—”

“Are you for fucking real, _Publius_ , coming after me when you don’t have a shred of goddamn proof?” Jefferson replied. 

“—and you insult me and _my_ connections? While you and Abigail Adams are close enough that you can show up at her house and her table whenever you please as long as she’s in command of the President’s House and her husband is away?” Hamilton stared at Jefferson and said, “Now isn’t that a pleasant view of events, Mr. Vice President?”

Jefferson only laughed. Angelica sighed deeply and sat as far back in her chair as she could. 

“Thomas,” Abigail asked, “Are you going to say anything useful, or will I have to do it myself?”

“Oh, please, he’s all yours, darling, enjoy,” Jefferson said. “I’ll sit back and watch.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Adams, if you were offended by any of that,” said Hamilton. “I only meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Abigail said, “And I can hear that you aren’t in the least bit apologetic for the disgusting innuendo you throw in my face in front of your own children and the Vice President of the United States, who neither of us may agree with but, still, he managed to be elected the Vice President of the United States. However, it’s how you have spoken in front of your _children_ that confirms every disgusting thing I have ever heard of you from anyone who has ever met you.”

Hamilton said nothing, only sipped from his wine. Jefferson propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, a smirk on his face while he watched Hamilton and Abigail. 

“Moreover,” Abigail said. “You may insult me in my own house and that laughable, total lack of decorum in the President’s House can only be a result of having been in politics with opponents like Mr. Jefferson for too long, and too long away from your own home, where your wife and children can demand better from you.”

“Excuse me—” Philip said.

“You are not excused, Philip, and you will not interrupt me,” Abigail said. “General Hamilton, know this: you and I are equal in intellect and equal in ability. Yet because you were born a man and I was not, I sit in the President’s House but not behind the President’s desk. It is required, yes _required_ , of me and my position to open my house to those I despise, and smile as I serve them dinner, and offer none of my judgment, my intellect, _my voice_. I can think and write and yes, even yell as well as you, General Hamilton, but because I am a woman, I am _obliged_ to sit here at my own dinner table and _take it_ from you, from you and countless others.” Abigail cleared her throat and said, finally, “You will do well to remember the pure, sheer luck that made me your hostess and not your opponent.”

Jefferson slow clapped at the table, but Abigail grabbed his sleeve and forcibly pulled his hands apart.

“And you,” Abigail said to Jefferson, her eyes locked on his. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you arrived this evening for the express purpose of insulting my guests without the President here to put you in your place. You did it even when my guests included these _children_ who expected to meet the Vice President of the United States and instead met a walking disgrace.”

“Hey, I didn’t—”

“I’m not finished,” Abigail said, her grip tightening on his sleeve. “Thomas Jefferson, you’re the most intelligent man currently living—yes, present company included, General Hamilton—and you use those gifts to diminish the life of anyone who isn’t like you. You rob the lives of black people in this nation, and you reduce them to circumstances not fit for animals, let alone human beings with lives worth as much as yours. You use science and rhetoric to justify their exploitation for your own gain, financial _and personal, Thomas_ , because I am not the goddamn fool that you think me. Countless people, hundreds of thousands in this nation, follow your lead in this because Thomas Jefferson has told them it’s the natural order to exploit millions of innocents with brute force. I guarantee that you will never have to live with the far-reaching consequences of your actions. You are my dearest friend, and my worst friend, all at once, and this is one of those moments when I can’t stand the sight of you.”

Abigail Adams stood up at the table and nodded to all of them.

“You will all excuse me, but pressing matters require my attention upstairs. I trust you can all see yourselves out without my assistance. Immediately, if not sooner.”

Abigail left the room without another word to them. Once the door had closed behind her, Jefferson stood up, buttoned his coat, and smiled at them all.

“Always a pleasure to see you again, Hamilton,” Jefferson said. “And so good to meet some of your kids.” He left the table and at the door, he turned for a final remark. “Kids, maybe look into a trade or something, for when your father inevitably ruins your lives and leaves you with nothing.”

Hamilton, to his credit, didn’t get up and follow him outside. 

“So,” Hamilton said. “Who’s still hungry? There’s quite a few taverns and hotels nearby that are serving dinner, or we can go back home.”

“Home, please,” Alex said. 

*

Back at the house, the four Hamiltons gathered in the sitting room again before heading up to their rooms to sleep, if any of them could ever get to sleep. 

“That was some shit,” Philip said. 

"Why wasn't that any fun?" Alex asked. "We were teasing you about Thomas Jefferson, and then he showed up, and then it was horrible. Why wasn't that fun?"

"My poor boy," Hamilton sighed. "It's because he's an _asshole_. Do you think I use that word lightly?"

"Yes," Philip and Angelica and Alex said.

"Okay, I might, but when I say Thomas Jefferson is an asshole, I mean  _he is an asshole_. Frankly, that's an insult to assholes."

“Is that what you do all day, Dad?” Alex asked. “Have meals with terrible people, talk shit about everything they’ve ever done, and ruin their lives one day at a time?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Hamilton said, “they do the same right back. One day at a time.”

“No, Pops, that’s not any fucking consolation, christ,” Philip replied. “Swear to god, if I ever see Jefferson again—”

“What, you’ll duel the Vice President?” Hamilton asked. “No one’s that stupid, Philip.”

“ _You were_ ,” Angelica replied. “You were! Like, two hours ago! Remember? You straight up challenged Thomas Jefferson to fight you outside the President’s House! Christ, Pops, what the _fuck_!”

“That was different,” Hamilton said.

“Except not at all,” Alex said. 

“Can we not tell your mother about this?” Hamilton asked.

“Do you really think she would believe any of it?” Angelica said. “If, by magic, I showed up in her room right now and said, hey Ma, we just had dinner with the Vice President! He leered at us, insulted us, dragged Dad to France and back, and then he and Dad talked so much shit the President’s wife literally kicked all of us out of her house. Oh, and Pa almost dueled the Vice President, too—what’s new with you?”

“No one is fighting Thomas Jefferson,” Hamilton sighed. “God. Let’s go to bed.”

“Pops, maybe I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore,” Philip said.

“Well,” Hamilton said. “With your temper, you can either be a lawyer or a bare-knuckle boxer. I promise you, in the long term, the law will be more lucrative, and probably more interesting.”

“Just stay out of politics and we’ll be fine,” Angelica said to Philip. “How about if we all stay out of everything, and then we’ll be okay. Great idea, Angelica! Everyone, let’s hear it for Angelica’s great idea!”

“Yeah, maybe I can be not involved in all this shit like Tía Peggy,” Philip mused. “Or marry someone like Tía Angelica! She can go out and do all the politics, and I’ll stay home with some kids.” Philip looked to Hamilton and said, “When we get home, Pa, I’ll need a dowry. Maybe Ma can teach me some embroidery.”

“Is that what your mother does? Embroidery?” Hamilton asked. “I can sew just fine, but her decorative sports are out of my league.”

“Embroidery is the general name for needlepoint, cross-stitch and the rest,” Alex said. 

“And which does your mother do?” Hamilton asked.

“Whatever keeps you from talking to her, like Penelope and her loom,” Alex replied.

“I had hoped I was wrong about that,” Hamilton said. “Go on, everyone get to bed. We have more work tomorrow.”

“Seriously? More of this shit?” Philip asked. “Philadelphia sucks.”

“Yeah, do us a favor, Pa—if this is your idea of a nice place, don’t take us to any more nice places,” Angelica said. 

Hamilton leaned on the end of the couch, covering his eyes from the little light in the room. None of the children left, so he said: “To bed, all of you, go on.”

“What did Jefferson mean?” Alex said. “About your friend. Not Washington or Lafayette. Your other friend.”

“The rich one,” Angelica said. “Is it the same guy whose miniature's your wallet?”

“Guys, could we not?” Philip asked. “Maybe Dad doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh hold the hell on,” Angelica said. “Since when do _you_ not want to talk about something that Dad also doesn’t want to talk about? Since when are _you_ the good son who doesn’t want to know something?”

“It’s all right, Philip,” Hamilton sighed as he sat up straight again. “Philip’s older, he’s the oldest boy, I probably had a glass of wine too many and told him about my friend.”

“So what Jefferson said is true,” Angelica said. “You had a rich friend who… used his money to buy you into places? Like your job with Washington?”

“No, no, god, nothing like that,” Hamilton said. “I joined Washington's staff before him, before Lafayette, even. And _Jefferson_ met my friend John while he was in France raising money for the war. John was a prisoner of war here and Congress wanted him to travel to France to raise more money for the war. He wanted me to go instead so he could stay and lead his own command. Eventually he went because they didn’t want me as a diplomat overseas, and Congress wouldn’t authorize a prisoner exchange for him unless he agreed to go to France.”

“Fucked up shit,” Philip said.

Hamilton nodded, but said nothing for a moment. 

“No," Hamilton said. "It’s nothing like what Jefferson said, he just—has a way with words.” 

Then, Hamilton half smiled. “Actually, one of the first times I came to Philadelphia, my friend did buy me something. He bought me a hat.”

Angelica raised her eyebrows at Philip, but Philip didn’t meet her eyes.

“So while my friend was a prisoner here, I visited him whenever I could because we were stationed in Jersey, only a day or two away. The first time,  I came to Philadelphia and after I arrived, we went out and Laurens made me a hat—not literally, I mean, he didn’t make the hat with his hands because that poor little rich boy wouldn’t know where to start and, to be honest, a hat of his design would be hideous beyond nightmares, but—my hat had been shot through, I think, something had happened to it. When I visited him here, he saw I still didn’t have another one without a hole shot clean through it, so he had a hat made for me because I didn’t have money for one myself. He had my first new hat, first new one ever in my life, sent back with me to New Jersey, and that was the hat I wore until the war was over. Washington actually sent me out to meet people on his behalf, once I looked the part of a man who could afford a hat. I probably still have it, this hat buried in my closet at home.”

Angelica laughed. “Is that all that’s buried in the closet, Dad?”

Hamilton actually cracked a smile and said, “Hush, you.”

“I don’t think Jefferson knows about the hat,” Alex said. “Or maybe he does, since this sounds like such an important hat you’ll tell anyone about it.” 

“You’re not _anyone_ , you’re my kids,” Hamilton said. “It’s not about the hat, it’s that—the first part of my life was made better, made bearable, made _good_ by my friends, and now they’ve all gone. The only people left are people like Jefferson and John Adams, and now Abigail Adams has me on her shit list, too. There’s just—” Hamilton exhaled slowly and shook his head. “There’s no one left on this whole god forsaken earth who doesn’t want my blood.”

“And what the hell are we?” Philip asked. “The butcher’s leavings?”

“No, of course not,” Hamilton said. “You’re my family, but I’m talking about—”

“What about Ma?” Alex asked. “Did you forget about her? And Tía? None of us count anymore?”

Hamilton shook his head. “Look, it’s complicated with your mother and I—”

“Yeah, cuz you cheated on her _and then you wrote a book about it_ ,” Angelica said. “You’re always working—you don’t know. You don’t know the pity looks people give Ma whenever she goes anywhere, because you told the world she wasn’t worth shit to you. Now you’re sitting here telling us a dead guy was the last person who ever cared about you, like we never happened, like this hat matters more to you than we do.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Angelica,” Hamilton said. “I’m your father, but you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I’ve done to get here. You don’t know what I do to stay here.”

“No, I don’t, and I guess I never will,” Angelica said. “I’ve literally never heard more about who you are and what you do all day than I have this whole week—no thanks to you, but thanks to the Vice President straight up lying to us until you _had_ to tell us the truth about _anything_. Do you think I'm stupid? How are any of us, _especially_ Ma, supposed to talk to you when you only leave your office to drop off another kid for us to feed? Is it _complicated_ because we're finally finding out who you are? How many more pamphlets do we have to live through before you’re just fucking _honest_ with us?”

Hamilton inhaled slowly and considered his words carefully, because she was his daughter, his child, and choosing his words with her was a thousand times more difficult than holding her as an infant and trying not to drop her. How he could ever have been naive enough to think otherwise was beyond him. 

“Mrs. Adams was right,” Hamilton said. “It’s a shame you’ll never be a lawyer.”

“Whatever,” Angelica said as she stood up from the couch. “I’m really tired and, like Philip said, this evening has been some shit. I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Angelica, wait,” Hamilton said. He rushed up and led her away from her brothers to the hallway outside the sitting room. 

“What?” Angelica asked. “Look, I’m sorry I said that stuff, I didn’t mean to disrespect you or whatever, I’m just tired and I’m going to sleep, it’s—”

“I’m sorry,” Hamilton said. He rested his hands on her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I’m trying to find the words. I just. Please—could you please be patient with me? I know I’m not—I need you and your mother to be patient with me. I—this is my life, every day that I’m away from you all. I’ll try to be better for you, and when I’m with you, but please—please know that I’m trying. I’m trying my best, and I’m trying to—I want my best to be worthy of you, but you have to know that I’m trying.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, I’m trying to say—”

“I know, Dad,” Angelica said. She reached around and embraced him. “I know, I know.”

*

**EPILOGUE**

Angelica shook Philip awake, but he was officially at that age when nothing short of setting his bedroom on fire would wake him and, tempting as that was, the house was a rental, after all.

Instead, as Philip slept on his stomach, Angelica gently pulled the ends of his top sheets around him, then dragged all of him to the floor.

“Fucking HELL,” he yelled. “Would you WARN a man before—”

“Shut up, I’ve been trying to wake you so we can get up and go to the markets before anyone else,” Angelica said. “And you’re only sixteen, so really, _shut up_.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to this if you said it involved getting up this early.” Philip bundled himself in his sheets again, then yelled again when Angelica dragged him across the floor. “Fine, FINE, I’m up, I’ll be dressed and ready in a minute.”

Angelica glared at him as she left his room, then went downstairs to begin her sweep of the house. The kitchen staff was up and, logically, they could have gone to the kitchen for what they needed, but the cook would have noticed all the eggs missing just before breakfast. Anyway, they didn’t have that many eggs to start, and Pa would notice if he suddenly had nothing for breakfast whenever he remembered to eat.

Leaving the kitchen, she peeked in the dining room, the study, the sitting room, and they were all clear—no one else was up. She heard Philip moving about upstairs and swearing as he looked for socks, which was her cue to take her hat and step outside to wait for him.

And there was her father with his lap desk.

“You’re up early,” they said to each other at the same time.

“I’m always up at this hour,” Hamilton said. “You’re not.”

“I am when we’re at home,” she said, defensively. “I’m just in Ma’s room, is all.”

“Mmhmm,” he replied. He looked up from his writing, but not at her, just at the quiet and empty street in front of their house. “And Ma’s not here, is she? I thought you’d appreciate the break from waking up early and having the boys to look after.”

“I still have boys to look after,” she said. “They’re just not as young here as they are at home.”

She slipped on her gloves and ignored her father’s quick glance at her.

“Philip and I are taking a walk before it gets disgusting outside,” she said. 

“Why don’t you take Alex?” Hamilton asked. “He’d want to go, if you asked him.”

“He’d want to snitch to you on everything we did as soon as we got back,” Angelica said. “Besides, he’s asleep, and Philip’s up.”

“And what’s Philip doing that Alex would want to snitch on him?” 

“Pa, _god_ , we’re just going for a _walk_.”

“In a city you don’t know, at the crack of dawn, for no reason that you want to tell your father.”

The door opened again and there was Philip, actually dressed and with his hat in hand, ready to go.

“Sup,” said Philip.

“No,” Hamilton said. “Where are you two going?”

“We do this every morning,” Philip said.

“Like hell you do,” Hamilton said. “ _I’m_ up every morning and neither of you have _ever_ gone for an early walk in your very short, soon-to-be-over lives.”

“Well, we had to see you before we left anyway,” Philip said. “We were going out early so we could buy things to bring back home for Ma and Tía and the kids. We _thought_ we could do it and surprise you that we were so damn thoughtful, but then I spent the last of my cash on candy for Alex and we needed more.”

Hamilton stared at them both.

“That’s thoughtful,” he said. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I—no, it’s exactly that, I don’t believe you.”

“Fine,” Philip said. “You can pick out your own gift for Ma. I’m sure she’ll love whatever you get her, since you know her so well.”

“Son, that’s cold,” Hamilton said. “I respect that even as I die inside.”

Angelica held out her hand. “Money please.”

Hamilton opened his wallet and didn’t even complain when they dove in and helped themselves to the bills inside. 

“Don’t worry, Pops, we’ll get you something pretty, too,” Philip said as he and Angelica left. 

“He loves you so damn much,” Angelica said as they walked away. “If you hadn’t come out I’d still be there until I died a spinster, yelling at Pa to be let out of the house.”

“You fight with him too much,” Philip said. “Not that it’s a bad thing cuz someone’s gotta argue with him, but when you need shit done, just fucking lie.”

“He loves you so much more, though, like you could have straight up told him where we were going and he would have pat you on the back and whispered _Philip, my son_ , like tears running out of his eyes and everything. Meanwhile, I get interrogated not just what I’m doing this morning, but what I do _every_ morning when I’m home.”

“Again,” Philip said. “Just fucking lie.”

“That doesn’t work for me,” Angelica replied in a sing-song voice. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll work on it,” Philip assured her to her endless fucking annoyance. “Where’s the market start, anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Angelica said. “Jefferson’s hotel is just off Market Street at Fourth, so we can just walk along, find a stall, buy some eggs, and turn off when we’re ready to throw them at his hotel. Then we’ll have lunch somewhere we can ruin our lives and reputation, and we’ll stroll back home!”

“Solid,” Philip said.

Problem: no one had eggs, or wanted to sell eggs, or specifically wanted to sell _them_ eggs.

“You two don’t shop often, do you?” a seller asked, looking Angelica and Philip up and down. “Egg rush is _before_ dawn. All the rage now for these wealthy men, be up with the sun and expect their breakfasts ready and warm. No eggs around here.”

Two stalls down: 

“Eggs? You two look young to be doing the shopping in such nice clothes, and this late in the morning—”

“The sun’s barely up over the river,” Philip said, pointing. “How much earlier could we come?”

“And why is it,” said the early bird seller ready to peck their eyes out. “That your own house hasn’t got chickens laying eggs for yourselves?”

“Forget we asked,” Angelica said as she dragged Philip across the street to the other side of the market.

Next stall:

“No eggs here—eggs will give you gout,” replied the next vendor. “Grains, though, those are what young growing kids like you need for your constitution.”

“Warm porridge could do,” Philip mumbled to Angelica. “We could fling it.”

“No,” Angelica said. “That’s _edible_. The order here is raw eggs, rotten vegetables, and then rocks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me rocks were on the list, christ, we can _get_ rocks,” Philip said. “And another 10 minutes in this humidity will rot every vegetable out here, so—”

“Buy some grains or get out,” the vendor called at them, so they got out.

Angelica led them away from the line of stalls and snapped at Philip: “How fucking hard does it have to be to buy some fucking EGGS. And why does everyone in this place want to know your business? We want some EGGS. Sell us some EGGS.”

“What about there?” Philip asked, pointing to a stall down the street with a giant sign that said EGGS.

“Why is everything so easy for you?” Angelica demanded. He laughed and ran after her and graciously paid for two dozen eggs out of his share of their father’s wallet. 

They left the stall and Philip said, “We should’ve done this earlier, there’s too many people around now.”

“You were dead until an hour ago,” Angelica said. “Are you losing your nerve?”

“ _No_ ,” Philip said. “No, I’m ready, I’ll throw as many eggs as we got here.”

“Did we get too many eggs?” Angelica asked. “Should we really throw _all_ of them?”

“We can’t walk around all day with a dozen eggs in a sack here on the surface of the sun, Angelica,” Philip sighed. “We gotta do it. Gotta throw them all.”

“We could egg the President’s House,” Angelica said.

“We could get murdered at the President’s House,” Philip said. “I’d be, anyway, but she _loves_ you.”

“Oh, I wonder what that feels like, this irrational favor based on nothing you can perceive,” Angelica said.

There was the building where Jefferson was staying, a hotel owned by John Francis just off Market Street. It was all so awkward, with Fourth Street narrow as anything and Chestnut Street almost narrower. 

“Can’t lose our nerve,” Philip said. “We’re here, we’ve got eggs, let’s—”

Already Angelica reached into Philip’s bag and threw the first egg up over her head, splattering it against one of the top windows of the building.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, I did that. I egged the Vice President’s hotel room window.”

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Philip said. 

“Come on, hurry!” Angelica said, looping her purse twice around her wrist and digging out eggs by threes and fours in both her hands to throw them at as many of the high windows as she could hit. She grabbed more and ran around the corner of the hotel and shrieked as she hit more of the windows. “Are you even throwing any!” she yelled at Philip. “Come on, get this side, we have to go!”

Philip ran around the corner and they covered the rest of the top windows in eggs. One of the windows shook as a pair of hands reached to open them, and Angelica shrieked. People were beginning to gather and stare at them, and then someone yelled and called for the owner to come out. 

“Fun’s over, let’s go!” Angelica screamed as they ran down Chestnut Street. Philip threw the rest of the eggs over his shoulder and ran after her. 

“How are you running in that dress on these cobblestones!” Philip yelled behind her. “I’ve almost died twice!”

She laughed and kept running, never looking back. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- The Hamiltons lived in Philadelphia during Washington's term in office, but I'm claiming artistic license and ignoring that for the road trip/returning to Philadelphia narrative. 
> 
> \- Angelica is reading Samuel Richardson's novel [Clarissa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clarissa).
> 
> \- Angelica and her brothers refer to her aunts Angelica (Schuyler) and Peggy as "Tía" because I wanted to keep the stage-production idea of Philip played by a Latino (and therefore the rest of Hamilton's kids being Latino-influenced) and this was one thing that could convey that through text. 
> 
> \- John Adams, at Washington's urging, promoted Hamilton to [Inspector General of the Army](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Inspectors_General_of_the_U.S._Army). Washington was pretty much retired at this point, but still in-name the most senior officer of the Army; Hamilton's promotion meant meant that Hamilton was the de facto head of the Army and John Adams hated it, like a lot. I fudged the timeline on Hamilton's promotion. 
> 
> \- [Jefferson](https://www.gilderlehrman.org/history-by-era/global-history-and-us-foreign-policy/resources/jefferson-french-and-haitian-revolutio) supported the French Revolution but not [the revolution in Haiti (then the French colony Saint Domingue)](https://history.state.gov/milestones/1784-1800/haitian-rev).
> 
> \- John and Abigail Adams didn't live in the White House until very briefly in 1800, right before Adams lost the election to Jefferson. Two years prior in 1798, the capital was in Philadelphia. The President's House/Mansion was in Old City Philadelphia (uh probably not called that bc it wasn't "old" then) and [Jefferson's residence](http://www.monticello.org/site/research-and-collections/philadelphia#Jefferson.27s_Residences_in_Philadelphia) was [a hotel a few blocks away](http://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-30-02-0394#TSJN-01-30-0397-kw-0001).
> 
> \- Jefferson did have [a bust of Hamilton at Monticello](http://publius-esquire.tumblr.com/post/131910037695/) for exactly that creepy reason. Read [the source link](https://www.monticello.org/site/house-and-gardens/alexander-hamilton-bust-sculpture) it's RIDICULOUS. 
> 
> \- John Laurens was [a prisoner in Philadelphia](http://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0742) during the Revolution, and Hams [did visit him](http://john-laurens.tumblr.com/post/130562627513/) while he was a prisoner in Philadelphia, but the specific location on Arch Street is an invention that ties in [to another story I wrote](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5169530). 
> 
> \- YEAH: Angelica Schuyler and her husband [helped Lafayette escape from prison](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilbert_du_Motier,_Marquis_de_Lafayette#Prisoner) during the French Revolution, but he was recaptured.
> 
> \- John and Abigail Adams [**really did not like** Hamilton](http://amarguerite.tumblr.com/post/130204503168/).
> 
> \- [The Federalist Papers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Federalist_Papers) were published under the pseudonym Publius. Hamilton wrote the other 51, etc.
> 
> \- I totally made up Aaron Burr lecturing at Philip's boarding school just so I could shove in a reference the idea of Philip/Theodosia because that is my favorite fandom invention and shit has anyone written the 100K epic sweeping romance AU yet?? The one where nothing bad ever happens????
> 
> \- [There was a hat](http://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0790).


End file.
